if brokenness is a form of art, i must be a poster child prodigy
by screaming internally
Summary: Jane grew up surrounded by magic, but not allowed to use it. So were a bunch of others. So here's a bunch of stories about what that's like. (Jane-centric)
1. we know where we belong (it ain't here)

One thing Jane had never particularly enjoyed about her 'innate fae powers' was the empathy. Not empathy as in sympathy for others, empathy as in she could literally _feel_ everything others were. The terror of a nightmare, the lust of a . . . particularly lustful experience, the adrenaline of a sports match, the nervousness of people about to go into a test. All of it - and she could only kind-of control it. Her classmates were under the belief that she didn't spend a lot of time around others because she wasn't popular - a fact as true as the nose on her face - or just didn't like people. Jane didn't spend a lot of time around others because she knew that on a deep, almost basic level, a lot of her classmates didn't care whether or not she was in their presence unless she had something they wanted.

Generally, she didn't. She hadn't ever since mid-elementary school, when everyone finally realised that no, she couldn't do magic and no, she wasn't going to show them her wings _or_ use them to fly them into the sky the way they wanted to.

She couldn't even properly help them cheat on homework - her answers simply did not fit into the maturity or education level that they had, her brain having adapted to the world faster than the rest of her, leaving her understanding of the world to develop quicker than people in her age group. When they'd been being taught the basics of referencing a writer of a novel in middle school, she been figuring out Oxford-style footnotes.

Jane stayed away from most of her classmates, being politely friendly at best. There were a couple she did like on a personal level - Lonnie, her first roommate before it became apparent that a roommate was not a good idea to Jane's disposition (turns out: extroverted roommate + anxiety caused by too many strangers = panic attacks. A LOT of them), Ally, who's understanding of the world around her was . . . is untethered was a good word for it? Ally's head was in the clouds, and Jane could appreciate it. Doug, Jane would never resent having to work with in class, nor eat lunch with and have a discussion about the music pieces he was learning with the marching band. But Jordan was one of the few people in school who could commiserate with her about her situation.

Jane would never really call Jordan a 'friend', but they were in the same boat together: the daughters of two magical friends to Auradon royalty, given the special 'privilege' of growing up in the royal circle, never mind that they were only considered if the royals wanted something magic done to or for them. Personality never really came into the equation.

* * *

She'd kissed Jordan, once. In the quiet time after a spring school dance - Jane couldn't be bothered to remember which one. They'd been sitting in the gardens, as the party quieted down and everyone filtered back to their rooms for bed. Jane had been sitting in the night, stargazing, Jordan plunking herself on the stone seat next to her.

Her schoolmates were some of the physically beautiful people - apparently 'awkward phases' weren't a thing most of them had to suffer through. Throughout her life, Jane had been surrounded by people that only ever seemed to be beautiful. Despite her knowledge of just what she was, she never felt anything other than strange, like there was something begging to crawl out of her skin, like her limbs simply were not meant to _be_ the way they were. Jane chalked it up to simply lacking the looks of her female classmates, the ones whose mothers had been blessed with mortal perfection by her own mother and colleagues. Spirits forgive that some of that be sent Jane's way, that they teach Jane how to be like them. Sitting in her frothy-tulle dress that looked like a slightly-shinier version of the clothes she wore everyday, in colours that made her look washed-out and blend with the wall, Jane forced a breath. Turned her head to look at Jordan, sitting next to her, her body radiating warmth in the gold-accented dress that brought out the colour in her skin, the essence of _magic user_ blistering Jane's brain.

"What the hell is with everyone's dumb obsession with each other?"

Out of all the conversation openers Jordan was known to come out with, that was not one that Jane had heard.

"Obsession of what kind?" Jane asked, trying to figure out the topic.

"Everyone wants to kiss each other, get their sweaty gross hands on their bodies. Like, I know that's a thing that can apparently be fun, but it's happening to everyone at once." Ah. That was the topic. Jane had felt the fluttering nervousness of her peers, the queasy slide of thoughts that led to slippery hands and tied tongues. She'd felt something akin to it when she sat next to someone she didn't know that well, but Jane bet that for her human peers, it had more to do with hormones than unease with people.

"I imagine puberty is the reason for that. You don't like it?"

Jordan slumped her shoulders, huffing a breath. "I could like it, but what I don't like is how everyone is making it out like it's some big deal, instead of fleshy slimy body parts touching another person's fleshy slimy body parts."

"It's the first time they've ever considered it's something they might want for themselves," Jane replied, "They don't know how to deal with it. I don't know how to deal with it, and I don't _like_ dealing with it. I can feel everyone else not enjoying dealing with it either, so count your blessings."

Jordan smirked, her fourteen-year-old eyes holding the same sarcastic look they held two years later. Jordan didn't really change too much as a person, no matter how much time could pass, not if she didn't want to.

Jane at thirteen wanted nothing more than to change as time went by. But that didn't stop her body from rejecting that request.

"It's talking to you, Janey, that really makes me feel what I am. I forget sometimes. People treat me like a human most of the time."

"And with the anti-magic ban, they have no reason to remember that we aren't." Jordan nodded. Jane tucked her loose hair behind her pointed ear to emphasise the point.

"Girl made of fire, girl made of dawn. Pair of peas in a pod, surrounded by everything on the plate except more peas." Jordan cast her eyes skywards. The stars reflected in her eyes.

"Was that supposed to be philosophical?" Jane asked, bemused.

Jordan snorted. "Nah. Statement. Metaphor. Exhaling carbon dioxide with the added benefit of noise. My brain distracting itself from what it hears the people around us from thinking."

"What are they thinking?"

"Stuff about sleep. Dancing. Dating."

"Do you want to date anyone?" Jane couldn't imagine someone wanting to date her, but Jordan definitely had her own allure.

"I don't have anyone in mind, but it seems like it'd be a good way to pass some of eternity. I don't think I want to date anyone. I don't want to date you, Jane. But I would like to kiss you."

So she did. Both of their eyes closed and their lips connected. It was a chaste kiss, zero passion involved. But it was nice, and Jordan's skin was as warm as the embers that her parents had created her out of.

It was not something the two of them ever discussed in the years after - at least, not in high school.


	2. mama who bore me

(mamma who bore me (mama, trying to keep me safe)

* * *

Jane stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel she'd left on the drying rack. (Melissa was having a nightmare again. Third time in four days, and it was getting to the point that she thought she might mention it to the guidance counsellor.) After drying off, she pulled on some comfy yoga pants and a tank top, shrugging on her favourite night cardigan. She checked the time on her phone as she left her bathroom: 4:35 AM. Four more hours before she had to worry about class.

She pulled out her Kingdom Civics textbook, and re-read the chapter they were going over for class a third time. Three more hours until breakfast.

* * *

Jane had had an infinite amount of practice on the best ways to while away the hours in-between the end of the day and the heralded morning - sleep was no necessity for her, merely a way to spend time. She had perfected the art of getting homework done well before it's due date, had read most books in the school library (and the city library), had just about mastered many pieces for the guitar and the piano in the music room, and when it wouldn't bother Mrs Potts and the school's cooking staff, had perfected baked goods (it didn't hurt the cooking staff if she left the fruits of her overnight labour behind in the morning for them all to snack on as they all worked, after all).

Mostly, she just wasted time - any of the above, or reading or video games, or just lying on her bed and trying to reconnect with her magic (needless to say, this was never very successful). Most recently, the imported 'classic' sci-fi tv show 'Star Trek'. The effects were a little campy, but she enjoyed it.

Other times, she stared at the most major evidence of the magic she never used.

* * *

Jane pulled off her nightshirt, standing before her mirror in only her underpants. Turning to get a proper view, she gingerly ran her hands over the imprint of her wings. Like a giant tattoo down her back, they covered her from the base of her shoulder blades, down the curve of her spine, the round of her ass, ending just at the edge of her leg. Of course, like a butterfly, the bottom set of wings curved around to her belly, covering the side of her ribcage and the tops of her hipbones. Intellectually, Jane knew that if she was wearing clothes, her wings would just phase through them, like pushing a hand against the currant of a river.

Intellectually, Jane knew that there was nothing stopping her from unveiling her wings into the shadow of her bedroom, the most private place she had at school - she didn't though. She hadn't unfurled her wings since she was a toddler, in the privacy of the home her mother owned, the estate near Aunt Ella's family chateau, where she'd been a proto-slave to the Tremaines.

She'd been flittering up to the apple tree in the yard, trying to get a good look at a bird nest in the branches, when her mother marched out of the house, yelling like Jane was setting the tree alight.

"Jane Verbena Fairchild, you plant your feet on the ground immediately!"

Distracted, gravity took hold. Jane dropped like a thrown rock, barely avoiding injury due to her mother's strong arms and quick reflexes.

Abigail set her daughter on the ground and stared into the guileless blue eyes.

"Sweet one, what have I told you about using those?" Clearly there was one answer.

"I was looking at the birdies. There's some really little ones, chirping." Jane gave a little whistle, imitating the noises.

"Darling. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times - you _cannot_ use your wings! Especially where people can see you!"

Jane whimpered at her mother's tone, her young age showing in every line of her body, the shine in her eyes. She was three. Abigail calmed, lifting her daughter into her arms and carrying her the short distance back to their home. Sitting in the picturesque chairs in the picturesque patio, Abigail dabbed at her daughter's shining eyes, making sure no tears had actually spilled.

"Dear one, do you remember what I've told you about using your wings?" Jane nodded and Abigail continued, stroking her daughter's hair and explaining for another iteration, "We don't use our wings in Auradon because our magic scares a lot of the people around us. A great deal of people have been hurt by magic, and they don't want to have to worry about being hurt again. So, you and I and your aunts and others packed away our wands and wings to help the people of this country feel safe. Do you remember what I told you happens to people that don't help everyone feel safe?"

Jane answered with what her mother expected her to say: "They all live on the Isle in the bay, and they don't get to choose about not using magic, because there's none there." Her face was dry-eyed and solemn.

"Precisely, my dawn light. I worry that if someone saw you using your magic - even if you aren't doing anything wrong - they might tell the wrong people, create the wrong story, and you might end up on the island and get hurt."

Jane silently turned her head to look over her shoulder, gazing at her wings, shining in the warm afternoon light. "But I don't want to use my magic to hurt anyone . . . I, I was just trying to see the little birds."

Her mother rubbed her daughter's arm in comfort, saying, "I know Jane, darling, but someone might get the wrong idea. It's better to be safe than sorry, unfortunately. We can't take any risks with your magic, especially when you're still so young." Abigail took Jane's chin in her hand, turning her daughter to look her in the eye. "But I'm sorry, love. I need you to put your wings away, where you'll be safe to keep them."

Jane's wings melted through her cornfield blue pinafore, hiding from anyone's view.

She and her mother sat in silence, holding each other, circling each other's unhappiness about the situation.

* * *

(Abigail/Fairy Godmother really is doing the best she can here. She lives in awe of her daughter's love of the world, as she explores everything, but unfortunately, she can't control the opinions of magic. She can lend a voice, but the decision belongs to someone else, who she likes on a personal level, but FG is always unconsciously side-eyeing the king to keep watch of what he does.

Also, the 'aunts' mentioned are the other fairy godmother - Flora, Fauna, Merryweather + other unnamed ones. In case that wasn't obvious.

(verbena - flower associated w magic (also: theme naming is a thing faeries do, says disney)


	3. everything is gray

**everything is gray, her hair, her smoke, her dreams**

* * *

 **Gray magic** is magic that is not performed for specifically beneficial reasons, but is also not focused towards completely hostile practices. It is seen as falling in a continuum between white and black magic. It is also called _neutral magic._

 **White magic** or **light magic** has traditionally referred to the use of supernatural or powers or magic for selfless purposes. With respect to the philosophy of left-hand and right-hand path, white magic is the benevolent counterpart of malicious black magic. Because of its ties to traditional pagan nature worship, white magic is often also referred to as "natural magic".

 **Black magic** or **dark magic** has traditionally referred to the use of supernatural powers or magic for evil and selfish purposes. With respect to the left-hand path and right-hand path dichotomy, black magic is the malicious, left-hand counterpart of benevolent white magic. In modern times, some find that the definition of "black magic" has been convoluted by people who define magic or ritualistic practices that they disapprove of as "black magic".

* * *

Jane watched from her bedroom window as the grey storm clouds settled firmly over the school, blanketing them in overcast light. Kind of like her mood. Cloudy, moody, giving off the sense of sadness, just a little.

Gulping her tea, Jane returned her attention to the book in her lap. _A Theory of Magicks: White, Black and Neutral_ by Dr. Eglantine Thrawne, PhD of Magic Theory and History. The copy Jane owned was battered and worn from attention, the first book Jane had found on magic in an actual bookstore, as opposed to her mother's libraries or in the homes of other faeries. The store had been a little hole-in-the-wall second-hand place, crammed high with books and scrolls on all subjects, generally dating back to just before the implementation of the ban, the same year of Jane's birth. She'd asked the owner about why they'd had the works in the first place when she'd found the book.

"Major bookstores aren't allowed to sell them anymore. All that stuff has to go somewhere, and I've always been in the secondhand business. Just means my clientele has changed a bit."

This was true. Jane could tell at least three other people in the store that radiated magic the same way she did. (She'd also become a regular at the shop. For obvious reasons.)

Dr. Thrawne was discussing the juxtaposition between the art of black magic and 'grey' magic and the perception of the arts. Jane was well aware of black magic, she'd been told stories all her life about dark magic, especially the kind used by the evil faery Maleficent and the villains locked on the Isle of the Lost that also used the craft, but she'd never heard of 'gray' magic before reading the book. Called 'Neutral' magic, it was magics used for personal uses, not to harm anyone, and not used to really benefit anyone other than the caster. Thrawne was arguing that gray magic was much more common than either white or black magic, as it was the magics most used in households or by private citizens of the world. Jane didn't disagree.

The magic she could feel every day was always just out of reach, gently brushing her skin enough to tease, but refusing anything more concrete. There were even times when Jane could feel the magic beneath her skin straining to be let out, to be _used_ the way she knew it wanted to. She felt like her skin couldn't hold all the energy in, that at some point, likely soon, something would rupture. Like she was living in a glass box she was quickly growing too big for.

* * *

Jane had gone with her mother to a brunch-time tea with the other faeries of what used to be the Godmother Association, the weekend before, and while she was helping clean the dishes with former-godmother Merryweather, she'd asked about grey magic.

"Where did you hear that term, young one?" Merryweather had asked.

"I found this book about the three main magic, you know, white, dark and neutral. I'd just never heard of neutral magic before, everyone always told me it could either be good or evil."

Merryweather had sighed a breath, tilting her head back and keeping her eyes on Jane. They were almost of a height. "Gray magic is the most common use of magic, it's used to enchant objects to do chores for you, to keep a cup of tea warm, that sort of thing. Mundane things. Sometimes you'll find it called selfish magic, because you're not using it to help anyone. I used gray magic for years. So did your mother, so did Flora and Fauna and the faeries and pixies of Neverland. All of us used it, because it made life easier. You can't use neutral magic maliciously, so no-one really had a problem it we used a touch of it to make the gardens grow a little better, to cook food a little quicker. I'm sure you can guess why it isn't so common anymore."

"The magic ban."

"Exactly. Besides, before it wasn't really called anything. We didn't really call it 'gray' magic, because as far as anyone who cared was concerned, it was just magic people using magic in their lives. It was an instinctual thing. Only the creation of that silly law stops fae from doing it now, we don't want to really risk the trouble it would cause."

Jane had quirked her mouth at that. She'd asked, "So instinctual magic was just using magic to do what you want with a thought? No incantations or anything."

Merryweather had gazed at her, noting the sidestepping of the legal bits of what the older fae had said in Jane's words, and nodded. "Just focusing enough let us do it, telling things to do something. It doesn't take much training to figure it out."

The implied conversation was over. Jane smiled at her mother's friend. Merryweather's eyes had softened at it, the sweet smile most didn't see on the young girl's face reminding the woman of Aurora's when she was young. She'd missed the soft smiles of young things that had made a decision they'd needed implied permission for. The older woman in blue hoped the younger one would thrive.

* * *

Jane put her book down, taking another sip of her tea. It was lukewarm, quickly approaching cold. She frowned at it. She frowned at her book. She frowned at the thought of walking down the flight-and-a-half of stairs that it would take for her to travel to re-heat her drink. She thought of Merryweather's words from the weekend. Magic, mundane, everyday magic, only took concentration. Only a thought. Only a thought to do something mundane, a lazy everyday selfishness that used to be taken for granted.

Jane felt like she was living in a glass box all her life. Perhaps it was time to put a crack in it.

* * *

(The freshly-steaming half-drunk cup of tea was the best drink Jane had had in years.)

* * *

(notes: I think it would've taken a while to get the support Beast would've needed to implement the ban, so waiting a few years after the formation of the country, after locking away the villains, likely would've happened. Jane being born around the same time is something I think is kinda sad - she's magic down to the core, and her legal right to use it being taken away before she was old enough to fight for it would be rather tragic.

also: Merryweather is lots of things, but a docile lady is not one of them. She argued with Flora over giving up magic to raise Aurora, she would've argued over giving up her magic just to appease a man that was scared of magic. Jane's got her approval (and so does Mal, whenever I get around to writing something like that out)

Also, gray magic is not something I'm trying to make into a bad thing, and Jane isn't sliding down some slippery slope into evil or anything like that. She wants to use magic, not take over the world.)


	4. don't look so surprised

**don't look so surprised, I'm a little smarter now (you can thank college for that)**

* * *

Without a doubt, one of Jane's favourite places in all of Auradon City was her mother's brownstone. Well, more Jane's brownstone now, her mother so rarely had the opportunity to even spend the night. Three floors and a basement, hardwood panelling, a gorgeous view of the city skyline, a space to _breathe_. And best of all - privacy. Few of her peers even knew of the existence of the building, nevermind that as far as Jane was concerned, it was home. (Well, the brownstone and the chateau in Charmington.) Her mother originally purchased the building upon its original construction, just as Auradon City was becoming, well, a city. Its original purpose was to be a place to go home to, when politics and helping create a union of countries got so taxing that Abigail just needed to _leave_ , but now it served as a home-away-from-school for Jane. She had a bedroom, a media room, a library filled with books on almost every subject (magic theory and history included), and her personal favourite - the hive of bees on the roof. Her mother cultivated the creatures, originally a personal source of honey and wax and other ingredients for magic spells and potions, now just a mother-daughter hobby and love, one of the few things the two both enjoyed wholeheartedly.

Jane sat on the roof, cuddled up in blankets and the knit sweater in her favourite blue-grey yarn, one of the first she'd knitted for herself successfully. A steaming mug of honeyed tea on the table in front of her, her knitting project in her lap, she was giving her hands a rest as she watched the sun slowly set on the horizon. The steady buzzing of the hive filled her sensitive pointed ears, drowning out the city sounds with white noise. Gently, Jane breathed on her drink, and felt the liquid inside warm up even more. She smiled softly, feeling the discharge of the energy.

"Now there's a thing no-one sees very often."

Jane whipped her head around, facing the voice she'd forgotten was there.

Standing well over a foot above her, her eldest honorary brother was smiling at her, his own dimples showing on his face. Jane patted the empty side of the wicker couch she was sitting on. He joined her, turning to the sunset.

Nineteen, in his first year of college over in Prince Eric's land of Atlantica Bay that sat on the edge of the old mer-king Triton's territory; square-jawed with green eyes and curly hair, Charlemagne Belmonte Charming was one of the most eligible bachelors in the Auradon high society circuit. And the first-born son of Cinderella and her prince, the closest thing Jane had in Auradon to extended family.

"What's a thing no-one sees very often?" Jane asked.

"A smile on your face."

Jane quirked her brow and tilted her mouth to one side as Charlie grinned impishly. Jane fought to keep her expression and not grin back.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed it is."

"Maybe I smile all the time, and it's just that no-one sees it."

"Or maybe you just like convincing people that you're stoic as hell and that smiling is a thing other people do."

"Or that." Jane smiled the way she knew Charlie was trying to get her to. "How did you know I was here?" It wasn't as if she shouted her weekend address in the streets.

"Well, I called _your_ mother, who said you weren't at your school, and I called _my_ mum and she said you weren't at the castle, and I called your house and no one answered. So I asked myself, where does my favourite misanthrope go when she wants to see exactly no one for days on end? And then I remembered I have the key Aunt Abby gave me the last time I bunked here for a night."

"Quite the deduction."

"And you're not the least bit happy to see me."

"Obviously," Jane retorted as she yanked Charlie into a hug she hadn't had since two months before when they'd last seen each other. Charlie took the time to squeeze her tight.

She didn't question why he'd come to see her, and he didn't make a comment. Instead, he asked the question that apparently, half their family wanted to know about Jane - "How are you doing?"

Jane tensed. Jane lied. "I'm fine. School's good, everyone's fine. Not much to report." Except her emotional state (constant anxiety, more or less), what her hobbies were (knitting, as per the last six years, and magic, as per the last three weeks (except no-one knew that and she wasn't about to bring it up), and how her closest friends were (she'd need to actually have some to answer that).

Charlie, very smartly, detected the lie. Not-so-smartly, he called her out on it. "Now there's a lie."

"What am I lying about?"

"That you're fine. You're not fine. You haven't been fine in so long I don't think you remember what it's like."

"That's rude."

"You're rude. You're lying to people that are worried about you."

"Is that why you're here? Checking up on me on behalf of our family?"

Charlie was watching her. "No. I'm checking up on you on behalf of me."

Jane watched him back. She refused to say anything first. Or fifth.

Charlie's expression was nothing but ernest. And concerned. The worry was in his eyes. "You're not happy Jane. Not really. You're just pretending you are, because you know that's what people want to see. Mum noticed the other day, when you were at the castle for the gala. Dad noticed too. I asked Chad, and he said you've been quiet and sad all over the place."

"And _Chad_ pays so much attention to me."

" _Chad_ is the only one who can. You might ignore each other, but you do know each other. You can read each other. I can read you. You're sad. Aunt Abby isn't that great at paying close attention to you, she's so busy, so the rest of us have to pick up the slack. What's been bugging you?"

Jane sighed, low and deep, emptying her lungs. She didn't want to fight.

"No-one likes me. At school, no one likes me. Okay, not in a hates-me kind of way, I've got people I'm friendly with. I just don't have _friends_. And I don't know what to do about it." Charlie said nothing, and Jane continued. "I make people uncomfortable. They just . . don't relax around me, I guess. It's a magic thing, the whole 'fae-aura-is-discomforting' thing. They don't like spending time around me of their own violation. There's also the whole, my-brain-is-more-advanced-in-maturity thing, so bonding through tutoring thing that your dad suggested didn't work. Turns out, people don't like it when you're just effortlessly more advanced in schoolwork than they are no matter how much they study. I'm not Mum. I don't make people relax just by being in the room, I make people irritated by being in the room. Generally because I know the answers to all the questions. I'm the school weirdo. Happiness is not required for that role. That's for the princesses and princes that I have to suffer through every day."

They sat in silence as Charlie absorbed what she said. When he had, they were silent some more. The sun dipped under the horizon, leaving the stars in the sky and the light pollution of the city to illuminate the world.

Jane went downstairs to make some dinner. Charlie followed her. They didn't say anything.

* * *

It was only later, when Charlie realised that if he was gonna stay the night at the brownstone the way he'd figured he would, then he'd better say _something_ before the silence got even more painfully awkward, that he voiced the first words in the building for two and a half hours.

"Okay. I know I can't compare anything I've ever gone through to anything that you're going through. But . . I'm gonna say something. So, speaking as someone who's learned just how much what people think of you during high school does not matter, being a weirdo is a _good_ thing. It makes you unique and interesting. The fae aura thing shouldn't be something that people can't handle. It's easy to handle, our family's been dealing with it your whole life. We love you _because_ of it, not in spite of it."

Jane looked at him, expecting more.

"Anyone that doesn't even try to get past the initial feelings you give them doesn't deserve to call you a friend. If you think that people don't like you because you're smart, then they really are the idiots they're trying not to be. If no one in school really cares about you, not in a loyal permanent way, then you don't need to care about them. And I don't mean that in that they think you're not worth anything as a person . . they just don't know you as a person, and they don't care to. Why care what they think? I don't care, I want you to be able to be happy as you are. So do my parents. So does yours. And if there's only one thing I do know, its that before all that high school crap you're dealing with now, you were proud of being a weirdo. You were a proud, happy, eclectic-taste having weirdo."

All of this was true.

"I just wish you could go back to that pride, even just for a minute. And I do know, that in a way, you could. That nothing is stopping you but you. Just . . if you're not happy with the way you are right now, change yourself. Fuck everyone else. Be whoever you want to be, and try not to break too many laws while you're at it."

Jane snorted, a small smile lighting her face. "Thanks Charlie. I miss your college-age wisdom."

"As you should." He said, an air of sage wisdom sarcastically hanging over his words.

They hugged.

And then they put on some socks Jane had made, because the wooden floor was dropping temperature very quickly, and neither of them were wearing shoes.

* * *

(notes: In his way, Charlie is right. He's also a little wrong, seeing as how, as with evidence from previous chapters, there's a LOT wrong with Auradon for fae, but he's in Jane's corner.

I don't know if we're ever given names for a lot of places in the Descedants canon, but im too lazy to check and this is my story and i do what i want. Also, if you think that the kids of Cinderella and Fairy Godmother _weren't_ raised together, then I'm gonna stick that headcanon up your butt. Jane is using magic, from the previous chapter's happenings, but she hasn't told anyone yet. She's keeping it to herself for a while.

anyone who can guess where i'm drawing inspiration from w the brownstone and the bees gets a cookie.

also, i fancast daniel shaman as charlie charming, and you should too.)

(two chapters in a day, i am on a ROLL)


	5. pass the kouchie to the left hand side

**pass the kouchie to the left hand side**

* * *

 **"Sliph:** A plant, believed to be cross-bred between the opium flower, verbena flower, marijuana flower and nutmeg root, often burned while mixed with sage and consumed at times with alcohol (most commonly fae absinth or mead) is a drug. A mind-addling substance, it is proven to inhibit, or dull, the senses of faeries and other magical beings, dimming powers of empathy, telepathy, the natural heightened awareness of the forces of the world and other such heightened senses. Therefore, it is a substance commonly abused by such beings. Since the passing of the Restriction of Magic, Cosmos-Altering, and Other Forces Act by King Adam Goodwin of the United Kingdoms of Auradon in 1999, sliph has thus far been recorded as a common-used drug in the time since the Restriction Act, thereby allowing magical beings to live un-pained in the modern era.

Distinctive for its purple-and-blue tinged edges along the leaves of the plant, sliph has been the subject of many debates since the Restriction Act, as to whether or not ban its usage in Auradon as well, as it is a mind-addling substance that has been frequently abused in the past . . . **"**

\- An excerpt of _Magic Plants and Their Uses_ , by Franklin Stephans, Professor of Magical History at Auradon City University, published 2005.

* * *

Of course, the idea of banning a substance that actually made life without magic _bearable_ did not go over well. At all. By way of loud protests, letters flooding the offices of _every_ royal that discussed the idea, the King almost drowning the things, and loud, angry phone calls to every. single. government official that even vaguely touched on the subject. Sliph was left alone.

Of course, it was restricted to bars and clubs, places were mid-addling substances would not interfere with running the utopia that Auradon was famous for being (at least in Auradon, anyway). Pills were manufactured to fit the effects of sliph, without the need for symbolic ties to it's previous, more common use, as a 'party' or recreational drug. Just as headache pills are common for the everyday human, so too did sliph for faeries, capable of making their nine-to-five days of average, human work more bearable, without those pesky things like _magic_ and _natural abilities_ getting in the way. (There is a reason that the fae population took a very sharp dip in numbers in the wake of the Magic Ban - sorry, 'Restriction of Magic that can cause harm to others in the slightest sense' - and most had to do with the popularly termed 'King Beast's policies towards fae).

* * *

Jane had grown up with the knowledge of sliph, but she had never actually imbibed any of the stuff. As one of approximately thirteen fae children living in the actual kingdoms of Auradon - as opposed to fae glens in the woods or Neverland - born after the Great Uniting and Restriction of Magic, no one had ever considered that she would need the stuff. It was considered a balm, an ointment, to be smeared on the gaping hole of the loss of magic for fae. As Jane and the others had never actually used magic, there was no need for them to use the drug - at least, not in the sense that was preferred by the non-magic public, ie: to make the loss of magic smaller, as opposed to its original use as a recreational drug, like marijuana was for humans. Some people used it for fun, others for pain relief. Sliph was the same for fae.

Jane did know that Jordan had a stash of sliph somewhere, she'd even offered it to Jane, at times when school was as most stressful as it could get for either of them. Given that at the time Jane and Jordan were under fifteen, and Jane was still very much afraid of causing problems for herself, she'd rejected the offer, scandalised.

Of course, it'd never stopped her from playing lookout when Jordan had imbibed the stuff on school grounds, either.

* * *

It had taken some cajoling, to explain to Jordan her wish for the drug without explaining her forays into magic, but she'd gotten the name of the grower that sold Jordan the plant.

It'd taken even more cajoling, and eventually some bribery, but the forty-eight year old quarter-fae agreed to get her an actual potted plant of the stuff. It'd taken a dip out of her personal savings, but it'd be more suspicious if she was randomly paying a bill every month for something she refused to tell anyone about, rather than having a pot-plant in her bedroom window.

The fact that it wouldn't look out of place next to the other herbs and flowers she grew in her window at school didn't hurt as an excuse.

When Jordan had found out Jane's acquisition of the plant, she'd insisted on Jane smoking it for the first time in Jordan's lamp, in case something went wrong.

"You've never used this stuff, dawn-born. Better safe than dragged before a committee ready to persecute. At least the first time."

Jane hadn't argued the point.

* * *

After the first attempt at the stuff, Jane had taken to rolling cigarettes out of the plant (dried, crushed leaves mixed with sage leaves, the way it was normally smoked) and imbibing the stuff on weekends, in her city home, or in her room, when she was _absolutely certain_ that no-one would interrupt her. The perks of being a misanthrope who'd made no secret of her growing dislike of her peers.

To Jane's surprise, smoking the stuff had actually made her feel calmer, less anxious about school or the future, the way she used to be. Her thoughts were calmer, slower. Her mind was running like a push-bike in mud, rather than a Grand Prix car with a souped-up engine at full speed. The intensity of the effects varied on how much sliph she put in the cigarette, how much sage, but the end result was something Jane really enjoyed. Her magic was less of a persistent buzz in her ears, less stinging on her skin, and more a gentle brush, like running a soft paintbrush over your skin, before ever using it.

Sitting in her open window, letting the smoke flit out into the breeze, Jane watched the skyline slowly turn dark, the sun dipping below the sea behind the school. Carefully, she stubbed her drug joint into the plastic tray at her side, wrapped it in a plastic bag, before tossing both the remains and the joint stub into the bin. She took an aerosol spray deodorant that was far too pungent for her nose (and therefore too potent for her mother), spray half the room with it, focusing on the bin, before she exited her room in time for the dinner bell to chime.

The noise would much more bearable now.

* * *

(notes: I'm making the timeline of this as if the twenty-year mark of Auradon was 2015, the year the first Descendants movie was released. I can't math, or timeline, so this may change, but I mostly just needed a year number to give for my 'academic' reference in this fix.

I DO NOT CONDONE THE USE OF DRUGS, UNLESS FOR MEDICAL PURPOSES. In a way, Jane is dealing with a chronic health problem (only kinda, because magic withdrawal is not something a person actually experiences) in her own manner, but I do not recommend anyone actually try the plant mix I stated. I have no idea what it'd do to you, nor do I wanna know, and neither should you)


	6. it doesn't stop being magic

**it doesn't stop being magic just because you know how it works**

* * *

No one had ever taught Jane how to lie. No one wanted her to know how to lie. But she had learned anyway. _Be quiet_ , they said without words. _Be delicate. They are all looking for a reason to be scared of you, even though they'll never admit it. Keep their eyes on your face, and they won't see the rest of you._ Keep the eyes on the human, kind, quiet face.

 _(I'm harmless, said the right hand of a left handed thief.)_

Let them relax around you, tell you anything they want to say. You are soft, warm. Nothing to fear, except your tears that would cause guilt. Be an ideal, not a person. Be the furry animal that is backed into a corner. Don't make trouble.

 _(Of course, sometimes the trouble with small furry animals in corners is, just occasionally, one of them's a mongoose*.)_

* * *

Jane snapped her eyes open. The bath water was that murky grey-blue it becomes when there's soap mixed with the water. She pulled herself out from under the water-level, hands gripping the sides of the tub. She exhaled, and a plume of gray smoke exited her mouth. Sage-scented sliph filled the room. The bath was clinging to the last vestiges of warmth. Jane had been under for . . maybe thirty minutes? cycling the smoke through her lungs and up to her airways, without letting the smoke out. It had burned, but in a good way. She could reheat the water, but instead pulled herself out of the big, claw-foot bathtub and reached for a towel.

What had she been thinking of?

(The standards expected of fae in the Auradon order, nevermind none of them actually liked them.)

It didn't matter. She had an appointment to keep, and dawn was forty-five minutes away. She had forty-four minutes in which to get ready and be out the door.

* * *

Jane locked the door of the brownstone behind her, a disposable cup of coffee in her hand and a scarf around her neck. Her breath fogged as she exhaled. Walking down the steps of her building, she turned left and quick-marched in the manner of someone trying to keep up with a city crowd.

The hole-in-the-wall bookstore at which Jane had procured her magic texts was only five tram stops away from her building, taking only about twenty minutes to get there. Tucked into the side of an alley, _Burning Books_ was run by a very old warlock that practised druidgery, named Aeshma. The son of a demon and a faerie, he had curly goat horns jutting from his forehead, blood-red irises, and leathery-brown skin that had sagged and wrinkle with age. Aeshma had confided in Jane that he was approaching his one-thousand-sixty-eighth birthday, at the end of the winter. It had put Jane into a perspective of just how long she was likely to live, compared to her peers at school.

 _Burning Books,_ as always, had an iron-wrought door bolted on top of the heavy wooden one that experience had taught Jane got stuck when the door was pushed in. The cobblestone alley Jane was standing in was familiar, far enough from the street on each side of the alley that recognising her was not an easy feat (nevermind anyone being around this early - the sunlight was just starting to stretch its way into the sky, turning the dark-to-pale blue into a violet-and-pink watercolour). Jane loved this alley more than anywhere else in the city.

The door finally swung in, after Jane shoved her entire body against it. Piled high against the ceiling was books upon scrolls upon books, the rich-brown mahogany wood of the shelves holding herbs, crystals and scales and feathers, the scent of tobacco incense filling her nose. Jane loved this place more than anything else in the alley.

Aeshma entered the room, his usual shuffling feet making swishing noises on the floor. Straight-backed, the man was about five foot four, two inches taller than Jane without her usual heeled shoes. He was wearing a satin tunic akin to the Chinese tunics Lonnie had once shown her, the kind that had belong to Lonnie's grandfather. It made sense - Aeshma had spent fifteen years living in China before he moved to what would become Auradon City, about five years before Regent King Adam's family became the ruling family. He spoke.

"You're late."

Jane sipped her coffee, still warm despite the travel. "Your watch is late. I'm early."

Aeshma checked his old-fashioned pocket watch, before smacking it on the counter where he'd ring up the total for a sale. "You're right. This thing's still ten minutes slow."

He flicked his gaze up to Jane, red irises meeting blue. His wrinkled mouth twisted into a smile. "You're here for what you ordered." It wasn't a question.

Jane nodded. Aeshma turned his back to her, and crooked his finger in the signal for 'follow me'. One following the other, he led Jane through the twisting, cramped shelves of the store, through the door that sealed away the old, smelly ingredients of former apocathary stores whose wares had been sold to Aeshma. Eventually, they reached a room that was clearly a workshop. Jane had been there exactly once.

Aeshma reached into a pot filled with simmering liquid, not bothering to try and protect his hand from the heat. In his fingers, the sludge of the liquid clinging to his hand, was a wand. Acacia wood, with shaven flecks of amethyst, bloodstone, jade, tiger's eye and garnet melded within the wood and a centre of unicorn hair, it was a simple, deceptive and beautiful wand. And it was Jane's. Her mother and she had had a quiet discussion on the topic beneath the sounds of AC/DC music and in the native fae language while cooking dinner at the brownstone one night. Abigail had ceded to the reality of Jane not being her successor, not after the rejection of the Abigail's wand at the coronation. They had already been uncertain of it, but that debacle had sealed it. And so, Jane needed a wand of her own.

The wand was no longer than twenty-four centimetres, designed for use and concealment, rather than flashy shows of power like the bright, glittering one that belonged to her mother. Like Jane, the wand was nothing to look at, yet contained multitudes.

She and Aeshma shuffled back through the store, the twisty smile still on Aeshma's face. It had been a long time since he'd made a wand for a young fae. Longer still that he'd had to do it at dawn. Wands had to be made and served at the same time as the fae who was to own it was born - not always, but it was traditional, so more strongly bolt the fae's magic to the wand. Jane had a bright magic in her eyes. Aeshma wondered what she'd do with it.

* * *

It had taken many trips to the store, during and after and before opening hours, for Aeshma to agree to make the wand (those pesky magic laws had better be overturned soon, with this new boy-king, or Aeshma was going to be writing a very stern letter to the monarchy about it), but it had been worth it. Originally the vocation of his choice, Aeshma had spent decades moving from one job to another before settling into the existence he had now. Settling into the body he had now, too. As someone pure of fae magic, Aeshma could control his physical shape just as well as anyone else, but he liked being old. He joints didn't creak, of course, nor did his body leech heat like the other olds he'd seen. But he felt . . soft. As someone who'd spent fifty years as a soldier, being soft was something Aeshma enjoyed.

He remembered the first long discussion he'd had with the fae girl behind him. She'd been under the impression that, like all young fae, that magic was about crystals and rituals and sigils and glittery sparks in the air. And while it could be, magic worked just as well with soft voices, blunt commands and simple, precise hexes. Crystals worked well and fine to banish something dark, just as well as a mushroom and a candle from a pocket being thrown with the words 'I hate you please die'. Telling the thing to bugger off worked just as fine as the other two, though, and it took less time. And you didn't have to throw away a perfectly good mushroom, either.

When Jane had protested, he just said, "The thing about magic, youngster, is that it's not something that can really be taught. People can teach you tricks, but your style and way of using it, that's something you have to cobble together on your own." The elderly fae man had slapped his hand against Jane's face a couple times, probably trying to aim for a reassuring pat.

Jane paid for her wand, hugged Aeshma, and exited the store in the early light. The city was waking up, and Jane walked back to her home, the seven blocks, with a spring in her step.

* * *

I promise, at some point I'll write someone from the actual movie.

* * *

(* Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad.

notes: I've been reading a lot of Terry Pratchett recently, and I'm really, beyond words, fond of the idea of Jane growing up to have the mentality/magic skills of the witches Pratchett created. I love them to pieces, and the idea of Jane, who in canon is so timid and just puts up with people ordering her around, growing up into someone with absolutely no time for other people's BS makes me happy.

tobacco, as a herb, is often used in offerings to the dead in ancestral feasts.

the crystals i've listed as being in jane's wand, as well as the wood, do have connections to magic lore.

Also, for a tumblr post about Aeshma's magic theories, here's a tumblr post link: post/161814206460/witches-when-faced-with-an-antagonist )


	7. i'll drink to your health

**i'll drink to your health and you'll drink to mine**

* * *

Okay, so. By and large, Doug didn't really consider himself a magical being.

His father was a dwarf, as were his uncles, and his mother was the granddaughter of a nature witch. Magic was, arguably, so diluted in his blood he was basically human - with the exception of his innate sense of where any and all precious metals or magical gemstones were within a certain radius of himself. But that barely counts! It's nothing useful, unless he were to work in a mine like his relatives.

So, unlike his compatriots in fae blood, Doug was largely left alone by the magic-desirous population of Auradon Prep. He wasn't Doug, the Dwarf, he was Doug, the Nerd. And despite the lower social standing of nerds on the social order, he was okay with that. He kept his head down, he worked well in class (unless is was with someone of the more athletic persuasion - while most were okay to work with, because they just left him to do all of it, there were some that were enthusiastic for the sciences. Without ever bothering to actually study sciences. The resulting explosions from certain partner projects had ended in a couple of fire-alarming prompted school evacuations. Doug didn't like working with jocks.), he performed in the band. Doug was, in the eyes of most of the Royals, Not Interesting. Not Magic.

Now, this wasn't to mean he was the lowest of the low, the guy everyone picked on. He had connections in the Royals, mostly Seth, Auntie Snow's son. Okay. Only Seth. Mostly because Sara and Felicity were still in middle school, and wouldn't be coming to Auradon Prep until the next year.

But for what anything was worth, Doug was left alone by the bullies. He wasn't interesting enough to bother.

* * *

So, Ben, one of the nicest people in school, the future king, and someone Doug had been quietly competing with for years for the title of Top Student in Math, was bringing a bunch of kids from the Isle of the Lost into their school. Okay. Okay. This could end badly.

* * *

Okay, so. It didn't end badly, and Doug even got a friend out of it. A very pretty, very smart friend who was picking up chemistry, no matter how difficult, like a duck to water. There were worse things.

* * *

So, it was a random Saturday evening, and Doug was walking back to his room, the one he shared with Phillip don't-call-me-Phil, the son of Hercules (Phillip was fine, just had a bit of a short fuse. His brother, Hugh, was on the tourney team, and even mentioning him was good to get a stone-cold glare in your direction). He ducked into a small hallway, just away from the kitchens. It was a shortcut to the dorms, if you were willing to got up and down stairs, but most didn't seem to know about it.

He was approaching what he knew was a corner of the castle, one with windows facing an excellent view of the woods outside the school, when he heard the music. Doug was something of an expert in music, not just from playing instruments, but also because dancing and singing along to it was a regular event at family parties, even in the occasionally-occurring community celebrations for the village he'd grown up in. Music was what brought the people together.

 _Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be ~_

It was a song his uncle Happy was fond of, given he named his own daughter Brandy. He didn't know anyone in the school who knew that song, except maybe Seth. Whose room was that?

As Doug got closer, he could hear the breathless giggling of two people. He knocked on the door. The music abruptly stopped, and he could hear a hissed "oh shit!"

"Put the thing out!"

"Where?"

"Ashtray, then the bin."

Jane opened the door. Doug's eyebrows raised to his hairline.

* * *

Her pupils were blown wide, like someone on sliph. Her breath smelled like sliph. Jane was smoking sliph. Huh.

Doug wasn't going to pretend he wasn't surprised; despite knowing her for years, he and Jane weren't close. She'd never struck him as that kind of person.

"What's up Doug?" Jane sounded a little breathless, and she was doing that thing where you try to hide the door handle behind your body so that the person you were talking to couldn't see through the gap in the door. It'd probably work better if Doug wasn't over half a head taller than the other girl.

"I heard your music. I know the song. Just wanted to say hi." Jane's face relaxed into a 'oh', despite the noise never actually coming out. "Are you in with someone?"

Jane's wide eyes didn't change, and she surprised him again by saying "Just Jordan. Hanging out."

"You and Jordan hang out? You aren't friends." Doug was ready to slap himself in the face for that level of rudeness. His mother had raised him better than that. He could hear huffed laughter from inside the room. Jane's eyes finally looked more normal, and she cocked an eyebrow.

"Rude much, Douglas?"

"Sorry. Please don't call me that."

"Care to join us, Doug?" Jordan called from inside the door. Doug looked at Jane. Jane shrugged, and opened the door, leaving a gap big enough for him to follow.

* * *

It occurred to Doug that he'd never really entered any of the other dorm rooms at school before. He mostly met up with friends in public spaces; the library, the cafeteria, tv and game rooms. But he'd gathered that most people didn't really customise their rooms - it'd leave them with a lot of cleaning up to do at the end of every year. Jane's was . . not quite messy, more of a controlled clutter. There was a book on almost every flat surface, but especially the shelves, where they stacked on top of each other like a bad game of tetras; plants covering half the windowsill and more hanging from string from the ceiling to absorb sunlight; he'd known Jane worked with crafts, but he wasn't expecting an entire nook by the bed to be stacked with yarn and what look to be a grey-and-black blanket in progress, nor the flower crown's she'd made out of those cheap dollar-store fabric flowers. Jordan herself, she was perched like a queen atop the bed, the standard-issue duvet absorbed into woven blankets and messy paper strewn across the top. At the foot of Jordan's crossed-leg perch was the dried leaves of what Doug recognised as sliph. Yup. Definitely high, these two.

Jane closed the door with a soft _click_ , and crossed to the desk beneath her bookshelf. She flicked the music back on, this time a softly-playing song Doug recognised.

 _In the little cafe on the other side of the border~_

Jordan started crushing the leaves in a stone mortar bowl, the kind used for crushing herbs, before pinching them onto rolling paper. She licked it so that it'd stay stuck closed. Doug sat in the plushly-cushioned chair near him, and watched, transfixed as Jordan stuck the joint between her lips and snapped her fingers, her index one catching alight, the flame reaching to the first joint beneath her nail. He'd never seen someone so blatantly break the magic laws like that.

"You won't tell, will you?" Jane's soft voice came from in front of him. She was seated on the cushioned windowsill, the glass open far enough that the smoke would dissipate when they were done. Doug's eyes, wide and surprised behind his glasses, snapped to her. He nodded wordlessly.

Jane smiled, and it looked almost genuine.

* * *

Eventually, Jordan extracted enough smoke from the sliph to properly fill the room and effect the three of them. Well. Effect Doug - Jane and Jordan had apparently been at it for a couple hours before he'd come along. Turned out, Jane was pretty chatty when stoned. To bad her topics were pretty morbid.

"So, it's like. No matter what, you better believe in _something_ , some kind of afterlife. Doesn't matter what, because it you don't then Death just picks some random purgatory to stick you in, _forever_. No suffering, no celebrating. Just. Existing, completely aware of it, with no way to change it." Doug tilted an eyebrow, his body language far more relaxed than when he'd first walked in.

"Guess I better pick up a faith, then."

"You're not religious?" Jordan asked.

"Not particularly. There's a 'god' of dwarves - Tak*, but he doesn't require us to pray to him, or think of him, just that we think at all. When dwarves die, they get to go to the eternal workshop, where there's projects for the ages, and infinite rest days."

"Then you don't need to pick a faith: you have one. That's an afterlife." Jane quirked her mouth to one side, her eyebrows tilting the same direction. It was a fond expression that said, 'you dummy'. Doug just said, rather effected by the sliph, "Huh."

He changed the subject. Little did he know, it was as much a minefield of a topic for the girls as Phillip's relationship with his brother was. "So, if you guys use magic, why don't you use it, y'know, during school hours an' such?"

Jane paused where she was rolling another joint, flicking her gaze to Jordan. Jordan, not afraid of bitching about such a subject, answered him. "Well, for me, it's because I don't enjoy being harassed on all sides by our so-called peers for wishes. For Janey here, it's because she's new to this stuff, and could mess up and cause problems. Besides, it's not as if anyone had ever asked _politely_ for magic. It's just demanding a quick fix, never mind that it might cause us problems to do it."

Doug nodded. "But since you guys have made it obvious that you're not doing it for them, wouldn't they let up?"

"Well, see, they haven't let up with their expectations, actually. They just _changed tactics_. Instead of flat-out demanding I do magic for them just because, they try to bribe, cajole, or worse, pretend they're trying to be my friend to get what they want." Stretching her limbs across Jane's bed, Jordan looked peeved, as she usually did when this subject was brought up.

Jane pointed a manicured finger at her djinn contemporary, the unlit joint tucked between two fingers. "What she said." Jane sparked the joint until the smoke was exhaled from her mouth.

Doug, despite the topic, found himself smiling. It was probably the smoke in the room.

"I guess I'm lucky. Never had to deal with any of that."

"Guess you are. Instead, I imagine you've got a bunch of people expecting you to graduate high school and then spend the next, what, hundred years of your life in a mine shaft? Digging up fancy rocks and metals that'll be taken and redistributed to jewellers, and then twisted and polished into some fancy metal hat for some fancy royal, and you'll still be choking on rock dust while the jeweller gets all the credit."

Doug shrugged. "Before I came here, I imagine that was the plan for me. I wouldn't have known better than to disagree with it."

"It's a load of crap."

Jane smirked again, clearly quoting something, "The system's failed us.**"

"That it does."

"So here's something I read in a book that applies to us: 'if you ignore the rules people will, half the time, quietly rewrite them so that they don't apply to you'" ***

The other two considered her words. They agreed.

* * *

Doug eventually stumbled his way back to his room, and fell asleep, fully clothed, on the bed. In his dreams, stone and metal and gemstones danced to music and arced through the air like smoke.

He didn't feel very rested when he woke up.

* * *

the title comes from the mountain goats song _fault lines_

(notes: so doug's mum is never confirmed or talked about at all, ever. that just means i get to make up what i want. if you google the lyrics i've put in the fic, you'll find the songs.

*Tak is the Terry Pratchett dwarven god.

**consider the title of my first Descendants fix.

*** this is jane's stance on other people's knowledge of her magic, by the way.

okay. confession time, here's what i got: doug was never really a character that interested me. he isn't given much of a character outside of 'nerd, musical, likes evie'. it was considering his dwarfishness, and the treatment magical beings get in universe that made me consider him. i hope you guys like this version of him i've made.

i imagine that these kids get together on weekends (also probably w mal and some others) to drink, smoke and complain.


	8. that one scene we didn't get

that one scene we didn't get

* * *

To say Abigail was not happy at Jane's new hair would be an understatement.

Her words, "Jane, what is this?" were not said in the tones of a happy parent.

Jane deliberately answered without answering. "It's my hair, mum."

Abigail was not amused. "Last I saw you, your hair was much shorter."

"That girl from the Isle - Mal - used a spell to make it longer."

Abigail sputtered, "A - a spell? Where did she learn it?!"

"From the spell _book_ in her hand. Mum, she proved that beauty spells aren't anything bad. She hasn't hurt me." Jane was refused to acknowledge the actual reasons Abigail was so startled. Abigail was having none of that.

"You know that I'm perfectly aware of the danger of beauty spells. I'm simply shocked at the _daughter_ of Maleficent came to _this school_ knowing magic! And is now practising it on students!"

"Growing people's hair isn't dangerous, Mum, and you know it!" Both mother and daughter were starting to calm down. And when they had, Jane asked the question that had been on her lips for years. "Mum . . I want to see the wand."

Abigail didn't even pause. "Absolutely not."

"Mum, I'm just asking you to show me your wand - not at the museum, I know as well as you do that the stick there is a fake. Please?"

"Jane, I know it's frustrating for you, being a faery in a country that doesn't allow magic, but I cannot simply thrust the wand into your hand. Not only is it against the law to use magic, but because the wand may reject you as possessor."

"I'm not asking to possess the thing, I just want to see it, touch it! And I want you to teach me magic, and then I won't have to rely on the magic of someone you clearly don't trust to make me beautiful!"

"Sweetheart, true beauty comes from within. If a boy can't recognise that, then he is simply not worth your time."

Jane huffed a breath. "Mom, I get what you're saying, but it also is exactly _no help_."

Her mother was no longer paying attention, the headmistress' attention firmly planted on her work. Jane knew a dismissal when she saw one. Jane left Abigail's office in search of Mal.

* * *

so in the movie, jane asks her mother to see the wand at mal's prompting, and then comes back and says that FG said no.

i just figured we could use a short version of that scene.


	9. with the exception of you

**with the exception of you i dislike everyone in the room**

* * *

The two girls are roomed together for the first month. New to Auradon Prep, the first of what promises to be years of higher schooling, they bond pretty quick. Jane's smiles have never been quick to come, but she likes Lonnie from the instant she meets her. Her emotions are simple, for a prepubescent girl attached to royalty: nervous, that first day but calm in it. Lonnie is a very assured person, confident in who she is. Being around her makes Jane feel better, in that way Chad did, during their childhood.

But good things don't last, and when Lonnie proves to be likeable to the point of popularity, the trouble starts. See, when Jane is in close contact with lots of people, all feeling wildly different emotions - nerves, fear, happiness, the pubescent lust that runs almost constantly in all her classmates in the low-grade fever kind of way - then Jane can't handle that for very long. It's a melting pot of emotion, and it drives a headache into Jane's skull very, very quickly. After several days of that mess, of people coming into the room that Jane hoped she'd have privacy in, loud voices that refuse to quiet drilling themselves into her sensitive ears, the flock of teens leave their room, Lonnie in tow; Jane throws herself under the scalding, beating drum of the shower and proceeds to have a panic attack. It lasts maybe twenty minutes, Jane trying desperately to gulp in air she doesn't actually need, her hands clapped tight over her swirling ears that take in more air than those around her, tears dripping down her cheeks in mix with her throbbing pain inside her skull; and she just wants everything to shut up, just shutup _shutupSHUTUP_.

* * *

(They don't.)

(Jane has an average of two panic attacks a week before she can't take it anymore.)

* * *

She tells her mother about the attacks after a month. She doesn't want to leave Lonnie, not really. Lonnie's a friend, and Chad doesn't seem to be much of one recently, and Jane doesn't want to be without a friend. But she can't take the noise.

Lonnie's guilt and worry invade Jane's brain as she packs up her things. Lonnie is watching her from her bed, posture stiff, despite her clear desire to seem okay.

"This isn't your fault," Jane says to the air, wanting to try and alleviate the tension, "me moving, I mean. I'm not good with people."

"Why not?" Lonnie's voice is quiet enough that any other person than Jane would've missed it.

"Faeries have empathic powers. I can feel the emotions of everyone in this hall. Every person. And I can hear them too, and I can't shut it off. At all. Moving me away from people will help." Or so her mother says. Jane feels rather dubious about the prospect, honestly.

"I wish you'd told me." says Lonnie. "I wouldn't have brought so many people over, or any at all, if I knew it was effecting you so badly."

"They made you happy. You liked having other people around. I didn't want to get in the way of that."

"You being happy is important too."

It is? Jane thinks this is the first time someone other than an adult has told her that. She decides to that line of thought, and says, "You can come hang out in my room, if you want." Although why would Lonnie want to do that? She's got friends, and she doesn't need to bother with her high-maintenence former roommate when other people would want to spend time with her? Lonnie's a bright, caring person, who can draw people to her like bugs to a flame. She wouldn't want to visit. But Jane just puts her foot in her mouth one more time before picking up her stuff and leaving, by saying, "I wouldn't mind you visiting. I like you."

Jane runs from Lonnie's surprise and gaping mouth, and tries not to flush from embarrassment at her own stupidity.

* * *

Jane's new room is smaller than the one she shared, but it's bright. It used to be an office for a clerk, when Auradon Prep's building was a castle (it had been a donation from the Lord who had owned it before, he'd been the last of his line and had wanted his home to have a use. He'd left it in his will to Jane's mother, with the stipulation that the property be solely used to fulfil his wishes).

There's big windows that open into the air, a window seat big enough for a person to lie on. Shelves line the walls, a desk to one side. A small bathroom had been constructed out of the supply closet next to the office, with a door made for her access. The wardrobe had simply been an expanded cupboard. Her bed is the regulation standard, a double, and shoved against one wall, leaving an excess of floor space. Regulation room television, but her mother must've been the one to get Jane's video game console and collection from the brownstone, because that's here too. Her mother had decided that, in effort to avoid Jane's troubles from the last few weeks, this room was to be hers until she graduated. She can customise it however she wishes.

So she does.

All her books go to the shelves, swiftly filling the rows, and clothes taking up maybe half the wardrobe. Her toiletries are tucked into the bathroom, and Jane puts her knitting project - a sweater for her mother, to be finished before winter came - on the desk with her school equipment. When she turns and gives the room one long look, it only seems half full. It's half the size of the main bedrooms, and Jane can't fill all the space. Typical.

The knock on the door is a surprise. That it's Lonnie is a bigger surprise.

The biggest surprise of all is that Lonnie keeps coming back, even until the day they graduate.

* * *

(it occurred to me that i've said these two are friends, but never actually wrote it, so here's something to fix that)


	10. if dreams can't come true

**If dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?**

* * *

As she watched the sun leak it's way through the winter-morning fog, Abigail sipped her honey-sweetened tea.

She'd been a pure optimist, once. She thinks.

It must've been around the time of her appointment as Fairy Godmother, that first time. Before she'd been the head of the Godmother's Association, before danger had corrupted the minds of humans and fae. The Elf Queen had ruled, but you could live. Survive and almost thrive. Life had been dark but manageable.

And she'd been good, then. Untainted. Young, too. Abigail found that a lot of days recently, she couldn't quite remember what that was like.

Sure, she made herself look young - mostly because it'd draw more attention to the age discrepancy between her and Jane than if she didn't - but she felt her age. Acutely.

She hadn't always felt it. Even when she'd been physically looking closer to her age, all white hair and lines on her face and skin that didn't quite pull to her mortal-esque bones, she'd felt fine.

Watching the mist swirl in the breaching sunlight, Abigail considered herself.

Auradon had been such a promise, in the beginning. The cruelty in the world was being dealt with, if slowly. All these new princes and princesses were coming to power, bringing fresh new ideas and views of the world, and they were planning to work together with the fae to create a world for peace and joy and love.

Abigail had watched Ella marry her love with smile on her face and a song in her mind, and she watched the forming of a new land with a song almost as loud.

She'd liked Adam, when she met him. He had a charisma that she liked, a firm belief that what he was doing was right.

She'd liked Adrien when she met him. He'd been rumpled and tired, an academic after her own heart. She hadn't liked the actions they were taking, putting all those people under lock and throwing away the key, but she thought it was necessary.

It had been the way of the new world: those unwilling to join their society would simply have to exist in their own land, whether they liked it or not. But she'd talked herself out of her doubts, had been positioned into power by that point, been given the Wand of White Magicks by the Blue Fairy when she'd decided to retire from godmothering. She'd wanted to earn her position, work with the humans to _build_.

She should've listened to Adrien, when he'd voiced his doubts about what they were doing. He'd said it, that leaving those children on the Isle was the worst decision they could do, that Adam's policies were fine for the short-term, but long-term would leave devastating effects.

She'd closed herself to him, pushing her ears fill of wool, believing the dream. She'd seen him off with the rest, watching the train pull away from Auradon, from their creation, into the land those braver than her were willing to build. She'd held Jane close, her sweet baby girl, and the two had waited until the train had been a dot in the distance.

Jane. Abigail honestly didn't know if she was a decent parent to her, or a terrible one. Nothing would have made her happier than to teach Jane magic, to see her eyes light aglow with it, to see her daughter thrive the way she hadn't since she'd been a toddler and still hadn't learnt about the laws of Auradon. Abigail had almost wept, to tell Jane about it, to have her daughter repress herself, her magic and wings, to fold in until neither could see anything of it.

Almost three hundred years in the world, playing godmother for almost two hundred of them, yet Abigail had no idea how to be a mother.

She was in her own home, alone. Her house in Charmington was secluded, only a handful of people even knowing its existence. She was safe. And so, she released her control, just to rest for a bit. She raised her tea, drank some, and set it down again. As she did, her hands went from middle-aged, to young, to old, and back to middle-aged.

If she'd looked in a mirror, she'd know that her hair had gone from the dark brown her students knew it as, and was instead the colour of a cloud on a bright summer day. Her skin would be lined, her smiles over the years having left her mark around her mouth and eyes. Her eyes, reputed to be kind and loving, filled with hidden uncertainty that would shine through.

She was tired. So, so tired.

And yet, she clung to the world she'd helped build. She'd made her bed and she was willing to lie in it until the foundations of that bed rotted from age. She didn't know what else to do.

* * *

 _Led through the mist,_

 _by the milk-light of moon,_

 _all that was lost is revealed._

 _Our Long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring,_

 _but where have we come, and where shall we end?_

 _If dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?_

 _How the gentle wind_

 _beckons through the leaves_

 _as autumn colours fall._

 _Dancing in a swirl_

 _of golden memories_

 _the loveliest lies of all_

 _the loveliest lies of all_

( **Into the Unkown** \- Over the Garden Wall, 2015)

* * *

I think this song rather fits Abigail as a character: she's old. Like, old-old. Been around for ages. She's seen some shit, and she's definitely at a point that it's actually starting to wear her down, despite the mask she puts on.

the title **if dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?** is one that I think fits her headspace for her life in auradon right now: the dream of a utopia in auradon can't come true, at least not now, but she almost HAS to pretend that she's okay with it. I think she's very unsure about what they've done (they being the royals and fae that made Auradon), but she doesn't know how to fix her unease. Just saying 'fuck this' and leaving like Adrien and the other fae wouldn't solve the actual problems, and she knows it.

" _The Fairy Godmother should have a kindly voice with a certain age in it. I don't see her as being goofy or stupid, but rather as having a wonderful sense of humor._ "

―Walt Disney


	11. content to be slightly forlorn

**content to be slightly forlorn**

* * *

She walked in a forest. The trees hung overhead, the branches thick with leaves, to the point you couldn't see the sky. As Jane looked further ahead, the path was swallowed by pitch - she wasn't certain if it was a mix of shadows or something else. Unable to control her legs, she moved forward. Her feet caused the dry leaves beneath her to _crunch_. The small bones of dead animals beneath did too.

The trees became thicker, darker, nothing but black between to fill the spaces. Jane strained her ears, willing more sound to enter, but she couldn't hear anything, not a whisper on the wind, not a scratch of a claw. It was a silence she never experienced in her waking hours. Swivelling her head from side to side, trying to catch a sound of _something_ , she had to force herself not to shriek at what flew into her eyes.

Glowing eyes, bright like headlights, staring at her. There was a pupil in the middle of each, slit like a cat. The big, bulbous things moved, up, up, up, past where she thought the trees shrouded light. The creature moved between the trees like a hot knife in butter, smoothly ignoring all things in its path. Jane skittered herself back, unable to take her eyes away.

The creature was an elk. Big, horned, furry. It seemed to have plants growing in its fur, giving it a camouflage. It turned its head and gazed at her. Jane, slowly, stepped one foot backward. The elk's glowing eyes somehow became bigger, rounder, as it opened its wide mouth, a mouth without teeth or tongue, and shrieked a noise that made Jane clap her hands over her ears, tears streaming down her face as her eardrums burst almost without pain.

The elk dashed away, into the darkness. Jane huddled herself to the ground, hands clutching her head and doing nothing to stem the vicious flow of blood dripping from her ears.

Now, she heard nothing but silence.

* * *

Jane opened her eyes without ceremony. There was no gasping for air, no bolting upright out of the bed. Jane was far too used to night terrors for that. She simply let her eyelids flick open and take stock of her ceiling.

She pulled her phone to her sight and checked the time. 12:43 am. She'd been asleep twenty minutes. Ugh.

She forced herself out of her bed, knowing she'd never get to sleep again, never mind without another nightmare. She'd dreamt of the forest before, the elk before. Sometimes it was a bat, sometimes a wolf, and sometimes the trees spilled black, inky sap. Sometimes corpses hung from the branches, humans and animals both, in all forms of decomposition.

But the forest, the dream, it had happened before in a thousand forms. Jane was honestly rather annoyed. She found it terrifying every time, despite the repetition, the lack of true variation. Couldn't her mind come up with anything else?

Apparently not.

Still, it gave her enough of a plausible excuse to not bother attempting to keep sleeping. She pulled out her languages homework and got to work.

Jane had long since resigned herself to this particular life.

* * *

That isn't to say it gets any easier. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the sensation of too much trying to cram itself into her mind all at once - it's all still there, and it all hurts. Jane's simply decided that trying to fight it is futile.

But when she's forced to sprint into the nearest evacuation tunnel to have some privacy to hyperventilate properly, she generally doesn't feel very 'resigned'. Shoving her hand hard against the fake-brick panel and basically diving into the gap, her breaths come wheezing, painful and shallow.

The tunnel is dark - only one way to go, with this thing, and thats _out_ : why install lights if you're trying to escape from invasion without being caught? - and Jane welcomes it. She cinches her eyes shut, trying to remember what worked last time, to make it all just _shut up_. Make them all _shut up_.

 _"Ugh, Mr Delay is such a jerk - why set three worksheets for the weekend?"_

 _"Hey princess, wanna go somewhere private, where no-one'll see us?"_

 _"But if you multiply x over y then the final equation should be something different . . "_

 _"King Elbert and Queen Rowena led a decadent lifestyle, eventually causing countrywide famine and poverty, leading to the revolution . . "_

 _"Of course Mulan could take Tarzan in a fight: she has weaponry! Muscles don't mean shit against cold, sharp steel!"_

Ugh. Jane clutched at her ears, mindless the slight sting of her earrings pressing into her skin. Why couldn't anyone temper their voices? Speak quietly? Sure, they were a bunch of entitled fucking pricks, but they did know that they had fae classmates. Couldn't they just shut up for a second?

Worse, she thought as a few tears dripped over her cheeks, even if they knew it effected her like this, they wouldn't change themselves. They never did, not really. They simply adapted their entitlement to fit whatever new order of the world occurred: Ben bringing the VKs hadn't changed much of anything. It just meant there were four new people to have people's attention, four new people to _break_ and _mould_ into what was acceptable. Jane hated it. Hated all of it, and in moments like this, she hated Auradon as a whole. Hated the bullshit magic laws, the clothes, the life of the privilege she inhabited the orbit of while the working class never rested, was never allowed to rest. Hated the spit of land in the bay, holding a hundred and some souls, condemned to an unfair fate. Hated that all of it had driven her father away, away from Jane; hated that it took her mother, not physically, but just about. Hated that Jane was never a priority, would never be a priority. No one would care what Jane wanted or needed, not if Princess Ruby had a broken nail.

Taking a deep breath that she didn't really need, Jane forced herself to calm down. For the panic to stop. For the anger to stop. She only had ten minutes until the end of break, after all. She needed to make herself presentable. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

This was her lot in life. At least, for now. She just had to make it through high school.


End file.
